Ccg 8.1.4 ⭐

“That’s a Colonial Guard priority distress,” he said. “Class-One. The kind you only pull if the alternative is feeding your crew into a star.”

“The mission logs. The real ones. I stripped the encryption before the pod went dark.” He pressed the chip into her palm. “Promise me you’ll get this to Fleet Command. Not the Guard. Command . The people who don’t wear black.”

“Takes one to know one,” Jin replied. Then his eyes glazed. His hand went slack. The monitor began a slow, descending whine. Ccg 8.1.4

Then she engaged the thrusters, and the Vindicator rose out of the methane dark, carrying a dead man’s truth toward the stars.

The letters glowed amber on the slate’s cracked screen. No context. No sender ID. Just the code. “That’s a Colonial Guard priority distress,” he said

Elara knelt beside him. “Jin. We saw the Orion blow. We saw everything blow. How?”

Elara felt the tears come, hot and silent. She didn’t wipe them away. The real ones

“It’s a trap,” Mercer said. “The Syndicate. The Tarrans. Someone who cracked the old archives.”